Feverish
by Hanakosong
Summary: Castiel gets sick for the first time as a human and Dean comes over to take care of him (one-shot)


Castiel had never felt like this before. In fact, he had hardly ever really _felt_ anything at all until Metatron had stolen his grace and thrown him down to Earth, essentially turning him human. And it was strange; having to constantly care for the body he was in, the concept so foreign that he often forgot to eat sometimes, until his stomach reminded him when it felt like it was going to eat _him_ instead. Castiel also forgot to sleep for days on end. He was so confused as to why he felt so terrible that he ended up calling Dean for help.

"Everything seems to be spinning and I've been coughing a lot recently." Almost as if on cue, Castiel broke off into a helpless fit of harsh, throat tearing coughs. When he gained composure again, Castiel spoke into the phone with a rough, worn voice, "I don't know what's wrong."

Castiel heard Dean sigh tightly on the other end of the phone before he answered. "Cas, you've probably gotten yourself sick. Tell me where you are and I'll come over. You need rest and some care before you end up in a hospital."

Sick. Of all the terrible, wretched things that could have happened to Castiel in this world as a new mortal, he had let himself become sick. Castiel told Dean where he had been staying for a few weeks and then waited, lying on his bed and pinching the bridge of his nose. It wasn't more than two hours later when there was someone knocking at the door to his crappy motel room.

Stumbling to his feet, Castiel opened the door to find he was staring into the familiar green irises that belonged to Dean Winchester.

"You look like crap, Cas," Dean greeted in his never-failing blunt attitude. Walking past Castiel into the dim room, Dean dropped a plastic grocery bag onto the nearby table and shrugged off his leather jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair. Castiel closed the door and staggered back over to the bed which he promptly flopped onto and fell onto his back, squeezing his eyes shut against the spinning ceiling.

Castiel could hear Dean's movements as the hunter walked over to Castiel's side and slid his hand onto Castiel's forehead. With a grunt of surprise, Dean quickly removed his hand.

"Holy shit, Cas. You're burning up. I didn't think you'd be _this _sick." Dean moved back over to the table and Castiel could hear the rustling of the plastic bag as Dean rummaged through its contents. Dean quickly returned to Castiel's side, propping him upright and coaxing a couple of pills and some water down his throat. Castiel had never really understood medicine, even after observing humans for over two thousand years. As an angel, he had never needed to worry himself over the matter of it, and he could always heal others with a simple touch of his fingers.

Through his absentminded thoughts, Castiel hadn't realized that Dean was nudging him further up the bed so he could cover Castiel with the bed sheets. After making sure Castiel was comfortable and starting to drift off, Dean told him that he was going out to get some things and would be back soon.

Castiel murmured something unintelligible in acknowledgement before Dean put his leather jacket back on and left the room. The last thing the former angel heard before falling into the darkness of sleep was the engine of the Impala roaring to life.

* * *

Castiel was never very good with the human concept of time.

For him and the other angels, things either existed or they didn't. There was no importance of how long or how short something was; it just was or it wasn't. So when God created humans and they in turn created time, it was completely fascinating to the angels. The humans the angels were charged with watching over felt the need to measure out how long they existed, forming the universe into years, into _numbers_ so they could feel like they might better understand what they otherwise could not. It was truly fascinating.

So when Dean shook Castiel's shoulder to pull him from the grips of unconsciousness, he had no idea how long he had been asleep. And he couldn't remember when he had started caring about how long he did something. He didn't think he would ever not be fully amazed at how easy it was to adopt the concept of time and yet never completely understand it.

"Cas," Dean repeated, pulling the former angel back from his mind. "I brought food. I didn't know if you liked soup so I just got chicken noodle because that's probably the most basic kind out there. It's also the best remedy for a cold."

Castiel tilted his head to the side as he pushed himself up to sit with his legs crossed underneath the sheets in an effort to stay warm. How could a mere can of something so common as soup be a remedy for an illness that made Castiel's head spin like a top and stuff his nose up to the point where he felt as if he were suffocating? But when Dean handed him the warm, steaming mug of broth, Castiel accepted it gratefully and began to eat.

Dean sat down on the end of Castiel's bed, facing him and crossing his legs with his own mug of soup. As Castiel chewed his mouthful, he couldn't help but stare at the sight before him.

Dean was always so careful, so guarded, and he was always gruff. The hunter almost always kept his emotions in check and presented an aura of practiced restraint when it came to hunting. But here, in this run down motel room with just the two of them, where the lights were just a little too dim and the wallpaper was faded with age, the hardened hunter who had done so much, seemed almost domestic. Dean was simply sitting there consuming his mug of soup with an open expression and an easy posture that Castiel had never before seen from his friend.

Castiel smiled to himself as he took another spoonful of soup into his mouth and sniffed against his aching nose. It didn't take long before the two men finished off their soup; Dean took their mugs to the sink and washed them out as Castiel burrowed beneath the blankets again, his eyelids heavy with the unfamiliar sensation of exhaustion. Dean came over to the bed and crouched down to Castiel's level, making sure the sick man acknowledged him when he said he was going to go and buy more food to stock up Castiel's essentially empty cupboards.

Once again, Castiel found himself drifting off to the sound of the Impala's engine revving into gear.

* * *

Castiel couldn't recall how long it had been after Dean had left before the former angel had to practically drag himself to the bathroom before heaving up his meal into the toilet. Castiel didn't know how humans could handle this nearly every time they fell ill. It seemed that the longer Castiel was human, the more respect he had towards humans for the simplest mundane experiences they lived through. He sat there after his body finally finished rejecting the food he had eaten, slumped against the wall next to the bowl, eyes half closed and limbs loose. That's how Dean found him, how much later he couldn't tell.

Dean burst through the door that had been left ajar by Castiel, panic evident in the hunter's emerald orbs and lacing his voice as he called out Castiel's name. Rolling his head towards Dean, Castiel watched as Dean's entire body slumped against the doorframe, relief flooding through every gesture his body made.

Where had this Dean come from, one who was so open with his emotions and so soft and caring? Castiel had never seen this Dean before, but he found himself thinking that it was a Dean he liked and wanted to see more of.

Dean moved towards Castiel, kneeling down in front of him and cupping Castiel's face with one hand as Dean's other reached up to feel the temperature of Castiel's forehead. Castiel thought he heard Dean mumble something about still being too hot but he wasn't entirely sure in his fevered daze.

Suddenly, Dean's arms were the only thing underneath Castiel, supporting him, Dean carried the sick man back to bed, placing him on the mattress with uncharacteristic gentleness. As Dean was pulling the covers over Castiel for the second time that day, Castiel forced his eyes open.

"Dean," he mumbled trying to grab at the hunter's hand.

"Hey man," Dean said softly, his voice comforting Castiel in a way that the former angel never expected it could. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm scared," Castiel managed to get out, his hand still listlessly groping around for Dean's. He didn't really know why he was searching for the comfort of Dean's hand, but in his sickly state, Castiel was too weary to try and interpret the messages going from his mind to his limbs.

Dean's brow furrowed above Castiel, his eyebrows drawing together and mouth parting slightly in confusion. Dean's hand found it's way into Castiel's, Dean's warm, calloused fingers intertwining with his. The sickly man took a moment to appreciate how well their hands fit together before Dean interjected his thoughts.

"What are you scared off?" The question was hesitant and tentative, as if Dean really didn't want to know what could possibly scare the man before him that used to be a celestial being with more power than a normal human could imagine. But Castiel unloaded his fears onto Dean anyway, knowing that he couldn't hide anything from Dean anymore, remembering how he had when under the control of Naomi and shuddering at the thought.

"I'm scared that the other angels will find me and try to kill me for helping Metatron expel us all from Heaven. I'm scared that Metatron will find me even though he told me he wanted me to live a normal, happy life. But most of all," Castiel paused here; his voice was still rough from all the coughing he had been doing and swallowed against the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. "I'm scared of being a mortal, without my powers, my grace, my wings. I'm unable to ever go home again as an angel."

Dean squeezed Castiel's hand reassuringly as Castiel's voice broke and he just broke down in tears. Castiel felt Dean shift beside him and suddenly the mattress was dipping down next to him, angling Castiel towards Dean's body. He couldn't help it; Castiel rolled onto his side and pressed himself into Dean's chest as he let himself cry. Dean's arms were there to envelope the fallen angel; the usually rough hands of the hunter were gentle as they rubbed soothingly up and down Castiel's back.

The two didn't speak the whole time Castiel cried, they didn't need to. They were so perfectly content, so amazingly at ease with each other that they just lay there in each other's arms as Castiel began to calm himself down. At some point, Dean's hand had found it's way underneath Castiel's shirt and his fingers were rhythmically climbing their way up and down the ladder of his ribcage on his back. Castiel could feel the rough skin of Dean's fingertips against his skin and he found himself leaning into the touch, keeping his face pressed close to Dean's chest.

Dean was murmuring softly into Castiel's hair as his fingers slowed their ascent of his ribcage. Castiel could tell that Dean was beginning to fall asleep. There seemed to be a new sort of communication between them, Castiel realized as his eyes also began to slide shut. There was something that they both wanted to say to each other, just so the other one knew, in case they didn't already know. But the fallen angel and the worn hunter both realized at the same time that it had already been said a thousand times today alone. It had been said in the way they looked at each other, the way Dean had cared for Castiel, and the way Dean had panicked when he couldn't find Castiel when he had been half asleep next to the toilet.

But Castiel still had to say it, he wanted to really, just to test out the words, to feel them on his lips and roll of his tongue. He wanted Dean to know, and he himself wanted to know, that he could actually _feel_ now.

"I love you," Castiel whispered into Dean's collarbone, his eyes falling shut as sleep began to drag him down into the depths. Castiel loved the way the words fell from his mouth, how they elicited a warm, comfortable feeling in his chest and expanded throughout his whole being.

"I love you too," came Dean's breathy reply, spoken genuinely into Castiel's ruffled hair just like the gentle murmurs Dean had been speaking earlier.

Castiel felt himself smile as sleep finally overcame him. And he fell asleep listening to the even breaths of the hunter who was holding him close instead of the sound of the Impala's engine as it roared to life.

* * *

**A/N: Okay so I completely rewrote this one-shot because I hated the way I wrote it the first time around. I would love it if you guys could R&R for me! Thank you!**


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